Broken Doll
by xoxfiresignx
Summary: I felt like a child whose favourite toy had been broken. Only I couldn’t run to my parents and get them to fix it. I had to fix it myself.' One-shot nXy from Neuro's POV. There's something wrong with Yako . . .
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - K, so this is a bit weird. My first attempt at a MTNN story, so please try and be kind.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own MTNN. I want it though. Gosh, I want it BADLY.**

- -

Broken Doll

My best virtue is impatience. Yes, I know that you humans think that negative traits like that are character flaws. But where I come from (Hell, to be precise), impatience is a highly valued quality. And I just happen to be graced with an inordinate amount of it.

Unfortunately, human slaves like Katsuragi Yako have no respect for such a virtue. She is to arrive at the office every day at 3:15 sharp; that was the arrangement. If she arrives at exactly that time, or earlier (though that is not in danger of happening), I am forbidden from attacking her. This was a rule she and I had spent many hours arguing over until we finally got the terms settled. It is now written on an official contract which hangs in a frame in the office for public viewing purposes (and because I like looking at it, since I wrote it using the slave's blood).

It was a particularly lovely day outside — cold, raining, and windy with thunder booming in the distance — and it was 3:14:25.

3:14:30.

Who did she think she was?

3:14:35.

Did she honestly think that even if she arrived at one millisecond after 3:15 I'd take pity on her?

3:14:40.

Where was she?

3:14:45.

Ridiculous. It couldn't possibly take that long to get here from her school.

3:14:50.

The school was only 75 blocks away, for hell's sake!

3:14:55.

She is so —

The door opened. I grabbed the closest thing to me (a paperweight adorned with a five-inch spike, incidentally) and threw it as hard as I could toward the entering maggot.

A slim hand reached up and snatched the projectile from the air before it came in contact with the girl's delicate features. The moment seemed to stretch on forever as she dropped the offending object deliberately, her deep brown eyes glaring defiantly into mine. I could do nothing but sit there, shocked, as the paperweight bounced a few times on the floor and rolled dejectedly into the corner. I couldn't believe it. When had the louse's reflexes sharpened? When had she ever been so stoic? When had she ever openly defied me?

The spike had cut her. Little droplets of blood slid down her hand, dripping off her fingers and blooming like deadly flowers on the floor. But she did nothing to stem the flow; all she did was close the door behind her, still staring fiercely at me.

"I'm not late." she said, her voice mechanical. That in itself should have warned me; the girl usually shrieked and bellowed, her shrill voice adding a cacophonous chaos to the otherwise quiet space.

"No," I agreed casually. I expected her eyes to widen, to light up: I _had_ just agreed with her, after all. But she merely continued staring, her eyes almost . . . lifeless. "But I was annoyed. The contract says nothing about annoyance." I stood up and rounded the desk. "Unless you would care to add a clause?" I gestured at the blood still trickling from her palm.

She looked down and one of her eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. "Oh." Then she moved to the couch and dropped her bag.

I felt a strange anger welling inside me. That was it? I show her she's bleeding and all she does is say "oh"? What happened to the creature whose eyes would fill with those pathetic tears as quickly as she tried to suppress them? The one who would dance around foolishly, trying to find bandages and antiseptic to clean and care for her wounds, only to discover I had replaced them with poisoned dressings and flesh-eating acid?

"Insect — " I snarled, but she cut me off.

"Do you have any work for me to do today, _master_, or am I only here to be insulted?" It was not the way she interrupted me that angered me. Nor was it the condescending way in which she said the word 'master'. No, what ignited my fury was how, when she met my eyes, the glassy brown orbs were still dull and cold.

I moved toward her quickly, hoping that my speed would disconcert her. Nothing. She merely stared. I grabbed her skull in my hand and allowed my claws to slip out inch by inch, digging deeper and deeper into her scalp without breaking the skin. No tears, no whine of protest. It was as though I wasn't touching her at all.

I released her suddenly; her head snapped to the side, but there was still no change of expression.

"You can't do anything until you clean up that hand." I was uncomfortable, watching her bleed. It reminded me just how fragile she really was, how easy it would be for anyone to kill her. Besides, I didn't want her dirty human blood all over the newspapers.

She met my eyes again, and I felt an inexplicable urge to attack, to rip those dead eyes out of her skull. They were foreign, as though they belonged to someone else. They weren't hers.

"No."

That was all she said, but all of a sudden my entire human body was on fire.

"No? No! You refuse to stop your own bleeding? You absolutely refuse to be human for a moment and care for your own utterly ridiculous failings?" I grabbed her hand and held it up, shaking it in her face. "You are so weak, you pathetic worm, that this could kill you. The cut is deep enough to cause blood loss, and you refuse to mend yourself? You are a disgusting, stupid, miserable excuse for a — " I choked suddenly. An incredible scent had reached me, a scent that I did not normally associate with the pathetic, unevolved human girl.

The scent of a mystery is not something easily described. It is sharp, spicy, sweet, bitter, tangy, and sour, all rolled together in a cloud that burns the insides of one's nose and stays there, filling up one's lungs and tugging almost violently on a certain spot right beneath the ribcage. It is inescapable, impossible to protect against, completely addictive, and totally, utterly delicious.

This was the scent rolling in waves off the human girl before me. My mind started to spin; I was swimming in the glorious smell, drowning in it. My limbs began shaking. I couldn't control myself. This was not the dilute, powdery fragrance I was used to in the human world. It wasn't the slightly stronger but more putrid odour characteristic of the demon realms, either. This was something I had never before experienced. It sent me into overdrive: my muscles clenched, my ears were ringing, my eyes clouded by a thick green haze. My knees buckled beneath me and I collapsed onto the floor beside the couch, Yako's hand still clutched in my own.

I brought the delicate, bloody fingers to my face and breathed in the aroma, trying to inhale and swallow it, to keep it within me. It burned me; my senses seemed even more dulled. The ringing in my ears became a clanging, purple blotches appeared in the green haze of my vision, and every square inch of my skin tingled. My lips were numb as I pressed them up against the pale flesh, attempting to force more of the delicious, intoxicating perfume into my lungs.

But the pull in my chest did not allow me to simply sit there and smell the girl's hand. It was like a hook, drawing me closer to her, forcing me to meet her gaze once more. When I did, the hard brown eyes penetrated right through the drunken haze obscuring my vision.

This wasn't Yako. No . . . it _was_ her, but there was something inexcusably wrong with her. It wasn't the scent — that was unconditionally _right _— but it was the eyes. There was something wrong with the eyes. Even though I'd just been practically mauling her hand, she had done nothing; there was no emotion in her eyes at all. It was wrong. Wrong. Incorrect.

I felt like a child whose favourite toy had been broken. Only I couldn't run to my parents and get them to fix it. I had to fix it myself.

A growl boiled up, low in my throat, and I jumped to my feet. I leaped onto the girl, straddling her, pushing her back until her head was tilted almost all the way back over the top of the couch. She did nothing, just submitted to my will without resistance. Another wave of the delicious bouquet assaulted my senses and I nearly let it take me over again. But this was more important. The rodent had to be fixed. Nothing else mattered.

My hand scratched at her throat, my claws raking over the exposed flesh, leaving thick red lines of almost-broken skin in their wake. The problem wasn't there. Nor was it in her head, I discovered after cursory examination. No, even if her eyes were wrong, the problem stemmed from somewhere else. Somewhere further down.

I hesitated for a moment, clutching the neckline of her sweater. A small part of me laughed at how she would react to this position were she her normal self. Then I ripped her shirt in half in one motion and tossed the tattered fragments aside. Her skin was soft and smooth beneath my hands and the flavour of the mystery was stronger now, almost unbearable. Her bra came next: in moments she was half-naked before me, and the source of the problem was inherently obvious.

I had been close enough to her for so long that I'd memorized her heartbeat. I know the cadence, the rhythm, the pitch. I could sing it to myself. I could write a symphony based on it. If I was tied up, blindfolded, and drugged, I would still be able to recognize her by the sound of that constantly-pumping organ.

The sound that reached my ears through the clanging interference was different. Something had affected her heart, had made it change. I didn't know how or why; all I knew was that if I fixed her heart, she should (theoretically) return to normal.

I didn't think. I didn't even imagine what my actions would do to her. I didn't consider the pain I might cause. The only thought in my head was to get to her heart: the only way to do that was to go through her skin.

I shoved one set of claws into her chest, slipping them in between her ribs and circling her heart. I almost lost it then. With my fingers buried in her chest and the beating of her heart pulsing through my hand, the smell overcame me. For the briefest of moments I just sat there, breathing it in, letting it spin through my lungs. But then the organ jerked in my hand and I realized I was killing her.

I refocused, concentrating with my entire being on the girl before me. The girl with the broken heart.

I felt around, touching here and there, trying to figure out where it was broken, why it was beating strangely, why she was different. But there was nothing physically wrong with it, as far as I could tell. It was intact; it was still pumping strongly, still forcing blood around her veins and to the far reaches of her body, still keeping her alive.

A shock of horror sliced through me. She couldn't be fixed like this. It was a different sort of broken, and I had done nothing to help it. I had made it worse.

I couldn't take my hand out of her body. The only thing preventing her from bleeding profusely was the fact that my hand was stoppering the wounds, sealing them. If I took my hand out, she would die.

"No . . ." I could say nothing more. Except for one word. "Yako . . ."

She raised her head, slowly, groaning. Her eyes met mine, and for a brief moment I saw _her_. Then the dullness returned, as though her eyes were a motel with the 'vacancy' sign lit up for all to see.

"Neu . . . ro . . ."

Some part of me snapped. The sound of my name in her voice made my entire body tremble. My hand closed tightly around her heart.

She screamed, her shrill voice piercing my ears like knives. Even as I felt a swooping feeling in my chest, even though I knew I'd killed her, I delighted in the sound of her voice; the loud, obnoxious screech that belonged solely to her.

"Neuro!" She writhed under me, her hands pushing ineffectually against me. "Neuro! Oh god, it hurts!"

A sudden stroke of inspiration hit me like a speeding train.

"What is your name?" I yelled, over her screams.

"Katsuragi! Katsuragi Yako!"

"What is my name?"

"Neuro! Nougami Neuro! Neuro, please stop! It hurts!" Tears poured down her face, but I didn't release my grip. The salty water dripped from her chin onto my arm.

"Yako, what happened to your heart?" I wanted her answers. I wanted to find out. If she told me, I could fix it. I could make her better again. She just had to tell me.

"You're stabbing it, you psychotic freak!"

Bliss. That was Yako. _My_ Yako.

"No, no! Why was it broken? What happened to you? Why did your change? What hurt you?"

She stopped screaming. Even though her face was still contorted with pain, she looked at me with an expression that might have been awe.

"I . . . I was . . . I was told that . . . I was useless. That I should . . . die."

Anger boiled through me.

"No, Yako. That's not true at all. You're the opposite of useless. And as for death . . . . well, I won't let that happen."

I released my grip on her heart and pulled my claws out of her. She choked, but I was ready; it only took me a moment to call on tool number 685: Evil Healer.

The black bandages wrapped themselves tightly around the wounds in her chest and hand. She gasped and started screaming again. I grabbed her and pulled her tightly against me, her bare skin pressed against mine where my shirt was open.

The Evil Healer will heal any wound, but it does so while inflicting a ridiculous amount of pain. Guilt gnawed at my stomach as Yako screamed and moaned.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into her ear. "It's either this or death."

She responded by pressing her face into the crook of my neck and biting down. Hard. It hurt, but it was extremely pleasurable at the same time.

"That's right," I murmured. "Show me how much it hurts."

And so she did.

We must have spent hours like that, lying on the couch. She never once stopped biting me, and I never once let her go. The storm raged on outside and the sky darkened minute by minute.

Then, finally, her teeth loosened on my skin, and the bandages (which were now a deep, blood red) fell away. I pulled slightly away and looked down at her. Her chest was just as smooth and silky as it had been when I'd first ripped her clothes off. I slid a hand over her heart, just to be sure. Everything seemed fine. Then I listened. And grinned.

"Beautiful . . ." I sighed, tugging her closer. "Your heartbeat is so beautiful."

She shifted in my arms, just slightly, and I was suddenly assaulted by that fantastic, amazing, unendurable fragrance. I breathed in; it was even more potent than before, and my body responded to it just as violently. I knew I should eat it; this was an opportunity I should _not_ pass up. But the slug — Yako had fallen asleep in my arms, obviously tired. It was too comfortable a position to move from now.

"I'm far too human for my own good." I rested my forehead against hers and let her steady breathing lull me into a sleep-like daze. When she woke up, she would probably attack me because of the compromising position — she was still half-naked, after all, and I was very aware of her breasts — but for now she would sleep like a child in my arms.

Besides, if I was correct in my assumption that the Ultimate Mystery was how to fix a woman's broken heart, I was sure I'd get many chances to taste it.

- -

**A/N - Okay, this turned out way darker than I expected it to. I just started writing and let it go where it wanted, and now I have psychosis. Great.**

**It started in character . . . And then it just kinda careened into the crevice of OOC-ness, smashing hard against the rocks at the bottom. Oopsy.**

**Anyway, I guess this is a decent representation of how Neuro would react if Yako's heart really was broken. He doesn't get the whole 'emotion' thing, after all.**

**Hope you enjoyed it, even though it was insanity on wheels.**

**Oh, and forgive the tense shifts. I'm sure they're in there somewhere.**


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone!

I've gotten a few requests to write a sequel, and that's definitely something I'm planning on doing . . .

But I'm wondering if I should write the whole story from Yako's point of view.

It might not work, but I want your opinions on whether I should or not.

Let me know, okay? Do you want to know what Yako was thinking during all of this?

Thanks so much for all your comments, it makes me feel really loved!


End file.
